at the airport,
Rimute, all the way from Germany,
she was wearing
a micro-mini skirt and a mink
stole. she had splashed herself
with a pint
of perfume from Switzerland.
she didn't speak English.
only French, Italian, German
and Spanish.
i had English.
she teetered over to my car
in her stiletto heels
and i put her six bags of luggage
into the trunk.
she was well prepared for
the three day visit.
communication was a problem,
but we made do
with hand signals ala
Jane Goodall and Koko the ape.
using the international sign
language for hungry,
thirsty, tired, etc.
it was exhausting, but fun
nonetheless.
i still have the chocolates
she gave me,
frozen solid in my freezer,
and the book about the Alps,
that she signed with big
swirly letters and a heart.
our initials inside.
i made a mental note of
no ice in her water, or drinks,
in case she ever came back.
a German thing, i guess.
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